


Dear Andromeda

by salamandererg



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dom-Drop, Drunk Grantaire, Light Bondage, M/M, Meditative Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Sub-Drop, gagging, sub-space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamandererg/pseuds/salamandererg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some nights when Grantaire is the one who talks, and Enjolras the one who listens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Andromeda

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you notice something that should be tagged that I have not included, or if you feel I have tagged something incorrectly. Enjoy.

\--

Grantaire poured himself another drink, already over the maximum he had assigned himself at the start of the evening.  It was a false limit, he knew, even when Enjolras stared pointedly at him as he drained the glass.

“Do not look so perturbed, I still have my wits about me.”

Contrary to what he said, Grantaire's tongue felt slow in his mouth and his thoughts had a pleasant blur to them. He brought the bottle over to his chair at the end of the bed, setting it down carelessly enough to tip over.

“Ah,” Grantaire stared at the puddle growing steadily over his floorboards with no concern, "It seems that even the universe has seen fit to chastise me.  Though you would probably say it was my own clumsiness.”

Grantaire laughed as Enjolras let out a huff and narrowed his eyes even further.

“Yes, perhaps clumsiness is not the word you would choose. I apologize, I will not consume any more,” He lied, perhaps without knowing as he did have every intention of not picking up his glass again. It thudded heavily on the floor beside the righted wine bottle.

Grantaire’s mood was sobered by memories of events long ago, the shameful memory of bright red rope burn on pale wrists, and refocused himself by staring at Enjolras to ignore the twitch of his empty fingers.  The other man was in a partial state of undress, enough layers on to not be completely indecent, but certainly not fit for being out in public.  Grantaire thought for once that he looked as he was supposed to, a student, a young boy with no harsh experience of the world, no cause to spark his eyes with fire, and no passion.  He looked like a doll, sitting on a young girl's bed or a store shelf.

Grantaire could not choose which he preferred: the boy who would sit on his bed undressed and listen to him ramble, or the revolutionary in full uniform who spoke to him with a zeal Grantaire could feel under his skin.

"Are you ready?" Grantaire asked, fingers already itching to hook around his wine bottle.

Enjolras took a deep breath to relax himself, closing his eyes for a few moments, and then nodded.

Grantaire began to talk, taking long, absentminded drinks when his throat went dry, telling anecdotes and metaphors that flittered from subject to subject, some were even abandoned half-way through as Grantaire explored a tangent. He told children’s stories and a few of his own, he paraphrased epic tales in three sentences, and had once talked for an hour about a limerick. All while keeping a steady gaze on Enjolras, waiting until his eyes had gone glossy and his breathing had evened out—one could suppose he had fallen asleep with his eyes open.

And that was when Grantaire could talk about Enjolras. He could empty his head of all the thoughts that had ever crossed his mind about Enjolras, ranging from the inspirational, to the antagonistic, to the carnal.

“I had decided some years ago to spend my days drunk, and my nights as well.  A lifetime being rocked sweetly to oblivion on an absinthe sea in a wine bottle with no anchor, but a useless cork one.  I saw you, like the horizon, like the dawn breaking a storm, and for once wished myself ashore on the harsh sands of sobriety.  You made me wish I had not had those one or two more bottles so that I could see you as men are supposed to see you, in the cold light of day.  A beautiful statue who stands in the garden bare and still does not welcome a touch.”

Grantaire stood from his chair, vision going blurry for a minute, before finding his way to the edge of his bed. He leaned closer to Enjolras and let his fingertips graze the apple of the other man’s cheek, before placing what could barely be called a kiss on his forehead.  Enjolras allowed this with his eyes open and no more than an exhale.

"Was that alright?" Grantaire questioned hoarsely, looking for any sign that his touch was not welcome, but could see none in the passive expression on Enjolras' face. Grantaire retreated to his chair, needing something solid to rest against before he decided to throw himself at Enjolras’ side and stay there.

“How I long to touch you with a firm grip instead of the ghosting ones you allow me, even on evenings such as these.” Grantaire continued, “You are the one in bondage, yet I am the one kneeling at your feet, a pebble beneath your boot, a slight breeze against your hair that does not quite move it from its place. I am insignificant, and yet you seek me out to put yourself at my mercy, and I thank you for it,” Grantaire whispered, holding his hands folded in his lap and bowing his head, “I have been found wanting more often than not, and I know you come to me from lack of another choice, but I will spend my very last breath thanking you.”

The room was silent after that as Grantaire fought to regain control of himself. His ears were ringing and his throat ached, there was a churning in his stomach that he suspected had nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with what came after the silence. When the silence began, it meant their evenings were finished.

"I do look forward to the nights you let me ramble at you, Enjolras," Grantaire said, only a hint of a smile on his face. He stumbled from his chair, just barely catching himself on the bed.  Enjolras made no noise, save the sound of deep, content breaths, and silently held out his hands so that they could be unbound.  Grantaire picked at the ropes numbly, unwilling to admit he had over imbibed and was having a hard time undoing the simple knots. Enjolras’ gaze was on him and Grantaire felt judged by it, whether that was the other’s intent or a figment of his own mind, he could not tell.

“Where else can one man be both the jealous god and champion, both Poseidon and Perseus?” Even as he spoke the light-hearted words, he hid his face from Enjolras', flushed with shame and embarrassment.

He finally managed to pick the knot free from around Enjolras' wrist, his fingers red and throbbing from the effort.  Grantaire quickly flexed them before starting on the ones on Enjolras' feet, he glanced at Enjolras' face expecting to see a disdainful set of his brows.  Instead the younger man's eyelids were dropping sleepily, still dazed. Grantaire smiled softly, bringing one hand up intending to caress the other's face, but aborted the move for fear of disturbing the peaceful expression.  He continued undoing the small knots, tossing the rope to the floor when he was done.

"Enjolras?" He called softly.

At the sound of his name, the other man refocused his eyes on Grantaire, looking happy and content as he never did in the daytime.  Enjolras tilted his head up with a questioning hum.

"Yes, we'll take that one off tonight."

Grantaire willed his fingers to stop shaking while he knelt on the bed to undo the gag in Enjolras' mouth. He gently traced the other's stretched lips with his thumb, stopping when Enjolras brought his eyes to his, and thinking his touch was unwelcome at that moment, immediately stopped with an apologetic nod.

Grantaire’s fingers fumbled even more with the thick knot of fabric around Enjolras’ head, though he made sure to not pull any of the thin strands of hair that had gotten caught, being as gentle as he could with shaking hands. Enjolras took a deep breath when the fabric had been removed after what seemed like an eternity, pressing his raw lips together and licking them slowly.  Enjolras' eyes became unfixed and he swayed a bit before bringing his feet over the side of the bed.

"You are welcome to stay—" Grantaire said lowly, as he always did when they were done with this secret activity, reaching to stroke Enjolras' back.  He always hoped Enjolras would accept it, lean into his touch and take comfort in him, but Enjolras never did.  Grantaire knew the action would soothe himself more than Enjolras, who appeared to not need anything upon his flesh these evenings but the bite of a rope. If rope could bring a peaceful expression to Enjolras’ face when his touch could not, then Grantaire would endure his own discomfort silently. Enjolras sat on the bed for a few more minutes, breathing deeply and staring at the rope on the floor.  Grantaire saw and immediately scooped it up to be put away. This seemed to be the action that brought Enjolras back to himself.  His head snapped up and, looking around, he forced himself to his feet and walked to the table that his clothes had been set on.

Grantaire rose to assist in dressing him, as he always tried to when he noticed Enjolras' hands were shaking badly.  Sometimes Enjolras allowed him, most times he would be snapped at and waved away. Tonight was one of the rare formers and Grantaire relished helping Enjolras into his waistcoat and boots, doing up the buttons and tying his cravat.  It was a simple action that eased his mind greatly, and it was done with far less fumbling fingers. "Thank you," Enjolras said quietly, voice soft from disuse as well as the late hour, like every word had to fight itself out of his mouth.

"Thank you," Grantaire echoed, meaning the sentiment, and offered once more, "Stay."

Enjolras hesitated, his body still dipping and swaying even just to cross to the door. He was in no shape to walk home, but Grantaire would let him if that's what he wished. Grantaire hoped it was not, he had often been left in his room wondering if Enjolras had made it home or if he had continued stumbling in the streets, if he had wandered into some alley and been taken advantage of.

“I, I have just redressed,” Enjolras said slowly, to Grantaire’s surprise.

Grantaire was far too delighted to hide his wide smile and walked over to Enjolras, offering his arm, “I will be glad to re-undress you.”

Enjolras did not smile in return, but nodded, “For tonight, just for tonight, I think it will be best. I am feeling quite…exhausted.”

Enjolras leaned on Grantaire and allowed his over-clothes to be removed once more. He was pale and cold to the touch, his shivering more pronounced with the extra layers off and once again he looked like the young boy he was meant to be.

Grantaire could feel the goosebumps breaking out along the other’s arm as he carefully led Enjolras to the bed and under the covers. He then removed his own over-clothes and laid himself on the other side of the bed. “The blankets will do more for you than I can,” He said gently, pulling the coverlet all the way to Enjolras’ neck.

Enjolras nodded dully, his eyes already closing, “You do what you can for me, Grantaire, even if it’s not…” He left off with a sleepy slur and did not finish his sentence. Grantaire watched him for a few moments, holding his breath and not moving an inch until he was sure Enjolras was sleeping. It took no more than a few minutes for Enjolras’ breathing to even out, and sleep would surely help with his pale face and slight shivering. Maybe sleep was what Grantaire needed as well, to ease that dull pressure in his lungs and stop his hands from shaking.

He closed his eyes and thought: maybe next time, he would put his arms around Enjolras, press firmly against the other's back to comfort like he'd always wanted to, rubbing circles and lightly stroking his hair. He imagined that it would feel like cement blocks being lifted off his chest so that he could breathe freely.  Maybe, just maybe, he would tempt his good luck with a small, but firmer kiss than had previously been allowed, to Enjolras' head.

Maybe next time he would ask; he would apologize once more, and then he would ask.

\--

End


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